At Your Service (Silhouette Desire) (3 page)

“Hi, sweetheart. Tell me you’re not doing anything exciting tonight. I need you badly.”

R
ight up until the moment when the three-year-old at table six nailed her on the chin with a maraschino cherry, Grace thought the night was going fairly well.

Even as the little demon’s parents apologized frantically for his assault with a flying garnish, Grace just shook her head and marched straight to the rear of the restaurant. She pushed the swinging doors to the kitchen hard enough to set them flapping on their hinges and threw her tray on a stainless-steel counter.

“I quit,” she announced to the room in general. “It is a complete madhouse out there and I’d rather shovel manure for a living than bring another Shirley Temple to that little monster at table six.”

The faces that turned toward her from the grill and the dishwasher were female and smiling widely at her threat.

It was the fourth time she’d quit since the doors had opened at 5:00 p.m. She supposed her threats didn’t carry much weight anymore.

“C’mon, Grace,” Sarah called cheerfully from where she stood at the sink, up to her elbows in soapy water and dirty plates. “You’re the only one of us who knows what she’s doing. You were certainly right that I’d help out most by scrubbing pots.”

Grace flushed with guilt as she remembered how she’d banished Sarah to the kitchen to wash dishes after the second time Sarah had dropped a trayful of drinks in one hour. The man Sarah had drenched with Merlot and beer had only settled down after she’d comp’ed his meal.

“I shouldn’t have told you what to do, Sarah. After all, you’re doing Tyler a favor just by helping out.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m clearly not cut out for waiting tables, and if somebody didn’t wash these dishes, we’d run out of plates to serve dinner on fast enough.” Sarah grinned at her and blew sweaty bangs off her forehead with a puff of breath. The ponytail she’d pulled her hair into was wilting rapidly in the steamy heat of the dish room.

“Besides, if a sister won’t scrub pots for her brother, then who will?” Sarah asked and shook her butt to the music spilling out of the boom box on the dishrack behind her.

Sarah’s easy acquiescence to Grace’s taking charge was only the latest in a string of surprises.

Grace’s first surprise had come when she’d returned to the restaurant, after getting just a tiny bit lost on her errand, to find the tables set, the soup of the day simmering and the makings of a restaurant staff ready to pitch in for the evening. By the time she’d been introduced to Addy, Sarah and Max, Tyler’s older and two younger sisters, respectively, and Susannah, his mother, Grace was spinning in a whirlwind of names and unfairly beautiful dark-haired women.

“Mom, bless her beautiful heart, is going to cook.” A snort of laughter from his mother made them all laugh. “You’ll be fine, Mom. The Garcias did most of the prep work before they left. It’s just like cooking dinner for six, only I hope you’ll have to do that twenty or thirty times. Max, you’ve got a year to go before you’re old enough to serve drinks, so you probably ought to help out in the kitchen. Sarah and Addy, one of you helps Grace wait tables, the other can bus them and set ’em up. Gracie’s done this all a million times, so she’ll tell you what to do.”

And with that, he’d walked away to answer the phone, leaving her with a stack of aprons and order pads and four women looking to her for direction.

“Great, Tyler. That’s just great,” she muttered, and thought furiously about what to do next. She’d seen at once as Tyler passed out assignments that Sarah was terrified about waiting tables and that Max was annoyed to be stuck in the kitchen with her mother.

But I’m not in charge here, and according to what I’ve told Tyler, all I’ve ever done is wait tables in a diner. I don’t want to look too comfortable with authority here, if I’m going to convince everyone that I’m just another waitress.

Her first question was for Susannah, Tyler’s mother.

“Do you think you’ll be able to make everything on the menu? If you have any problems, we can always say that we didn’t receive a delivery of something crucial and apologize for the dish not being available.”

The older woman raised one eyebrow archly and smiled. “Tyler came to me for help in designing the menu, because he likes my cooking. If I have problems with anything on that list, he’ll laugh me out of kitchen.” She turned and walked off to the kitchen.

“Terrific. Two minutes and I’ve already pissed off the boss’s mom.” She kept her voice low enough that she hoped no one heard her. Then she caught Sarah grinning at her.

“Okay, everyone grab an order pad. We’re going to make cheat sheets, so you don’t have to keep looking at the menu for prices. You, too, Max, just in case,” she said, trying to include the girl who had her arms crossed over her chest and a shuttered stare.

She kitted them all out with a three-pocket apron, order book and pad, and a tray for serving drinks. When she wrapped the apron strings twice around her waist, tied them in front of her and stuffed her book in the center apron pocket, she was surprised at how at home she felt. It had been years since she’d worked as a server at a restaurant, but apparently waiting tables was like riding a bike.

Once you did it, you never forgot how.

“Okay, ladies. Lesson number one. The customer is always right.” Grace waited a beat. “Except when they are obnoxious, crazy or just plain wrong.”

They laughed and then listened as Grace gave them a crash course in how to wait tables. From greeting the customers and taking orders, to serving food and cashing out a check. When the three sisters were temporarily occupied with an argument over the most efficient way to abbreviate garnishes and side orders, Grace took a moment to search out Tyler.

She found him in a tiny office, hidden behind a door off the kitchen. When she turned the knob, the door opened and she carefully peeked her head into the room.

Tyler sat at a desk overflowing with paperwork. Grace saw stacks of invoices teetering precariously on one edge and a hastily assembled pile of applications at Tyler’s other elbow. The man himself was on the phone and as she listened to the conversation, she understood that he was trying to find more permanent help than his sisters and mother for the restaurant.

“No, thanks, Jorge. I’m covered for the weekend. But if you could start on Monday, you’d be a lifesaver, man.”

He noticed her waiting and waved her into the office with a flick of his hand. She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms to wait. He was off the phone in short order, after thanks and goodbyes.

“How are things on the floor with my crazy sisters?”

“Everything’s in order, bossman.” She snapped him a two-finger salute that was lacking enough in respect to have her doing two hundred push-ups if she’d been at boot camp. But she couldn’t hide her fondness for the women arguing loudly in the front of the house as she kept speaking, her voice forceful. “And your sisters aren’t crazy. They’re wonderful. You should be proud to have them for family.”

“I am.”

His simple answer stopped her and made her flush. She couldn’t keep on overreacting and being this easily flustered around him. She’d managed herself well enough around the rest of his family. Well, except for his mother.

The fact that she was basically comfortable around everyone except the only man in the restaurant did not escape her.

I’ll get over it, Grace told herself.

I’ll have to.

“Sorry.” Her apology was awkward. “I just came in to ask if you had a price list for drinks.”

“Of course.” Tyler stood and reached out to a shelf above her head, abutting the door frame. He deliberately crowded her as he searched for the price list in the stack of papers piled haphazardly on the shelf. He waited for her to back up, and smiled to himself when she just glared up at him, those lake-blue eyes flashing with waves of irritation.

He’d left his door open a crack after walking off and leaving Grace to whip his sisters into shape as a waitstaff. He heard her unintentionally insult his mother and flinched in sympathy. And then, after a moment of silence during which he could somehow
feel
her take a deep breath and take charge, he heard his fragile, blond smart-ass launch into an entertaining and informative lecture on how to wait tables like a pro. After five minutes, he’d shut his office door and tackled the phone.

Now he listened to her making huffy little noises of irritation as he pretended to continue his search for a price list and he wanted to laugh out loud at what a bundle of nerves and brashness she was. Making a noise of sudden, pleased discovery, he exaggerated his relief at finding the laminated sheet of paper and sat again, handing it to her in the process.

“Thanks.” She started to glance over the list as she turned to go, then stopped short in the doorway.

“This isn’t going to work.”

“What isn’t going to work?” he asked, his voice sharper than he’d intended. He’d put a lot of thought into the pricing of his drinks, after all, searching for that delicate balance between maximizing profit and convincing the customer that he was getting a good deal. Ten years of serving drinks in someone else’s bar had taught him what worked and he knew his price list was exactly right for the house.

He saw Grace turn and glance guiltily at him, and wondered what misdeed she thought she’d performed now. When she brushed off his question with a shrug and an apology, he realized that she was afraid to point out to him something she didn’t agree with. He gentled his voice. Another of his goals was to be the kind of boss that employees felt comfortable talking to.

“It’s okay, Grace. I’m not going to be mad at you. If you’ve got a suggestion, let me have it. It’s our opening night, you know. I probably don’t have everything perfect yet.” He smiled to encourage her.

Grace fumed and kept the timid smile plastered across her face. Not until Tyler had snapped at her had she realized that she’d slipped and started talking to him as a restaurant manager would. That level of confidence and analysis would certainly be out of character for her cover story.

“No, you do. Have things perfect, I mean. The prices seem right-on for the neighborhood and the crowd you’re likely to get.” She kept her voice soft and on the nervous side. “I was just thinking that this list might be a little complicated for your sisters. Seeing as it’s their first time waiting tables.”

“And what would you suggest?”

“Well, if we could maybe group the drinks into just a few price categories? You know, domestic and import beers, well drinks, call drinks and premiums.” She reeled off the standard ordering procedure of her restaurants without a hitch. “That way they wouldn’t have so much to remember.”

Tyler knew immediately that she was correct and was irritated for not thinking of it himself. He might have the time and inclination to memorize fifty or sixty different drink prices, but his servers deserved a price list they could learn without studying as if they were prepping for a college exam. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed a piece of scrap paper and scribbled out a new list that was five lines long.

“For tonight, use this. We’ll expand it later.”

“Thank you, Tyler. This will help out a lot.”

It was like a punch to the gut, grabbing him and dragging him to his feet to stand over her. Just hearing her say his name in that soft, almost-apologetic voice, as though she was afraid even to speak to him. It made him want to kiss her until she pushed him away—he had no doubt that she would—and told him off again in that sassy, take-no-grief attitude.

He snagged her elbow as she headed out the door and pulled her back around to face him. Her eyes were wide and blinking with nervousness as he laid a hand alongside her face and brushed his fingers from her hairline to the edge of her mouth.

“In the future, don’t hesitate to talk to me, Grace.”

He leaned forward, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath on his face.

“You don’t have to hide your intelligence from me. Let me into that clever little mind.”

His lips hovered over hers for one never-ending moment.

“I want to know what you’re thinking.”

When he touched his mouth to hers, she gave a little sigh and sank the smallest bit further into his kiss. Her mouth eased open under his gentle assault, his teeth nipping softly at her full, lower lip. He traced his fingertips along the edge of her upswept hair, around to the back of her neck and then skated them down her spine. Her back arched sharply beneath his hand. She might have been avoiding the pressure of his hand, but her escape had the pleasant side effect of pressing her breasts into his chest.

Tyler felt light-headed from the effort of restraining himself from moving any faster and scaring her off. Well, if he passed out, surely someone would throw some water on him to wake him up.

When she pulled back after a time that was not nearly long enough, Tyler figured that that was to be expected.

Her next words, however, were not.

“I’m thinking Addy and Sarah aren’t going to be able to handle more than two tables each, which leaves me with eight four-tops and hostess duties.”

“What?”

“You asked me what I was thinking.” She looked up at him with calm eyes. “That’s it.”

For a moment Tyler was offended. He’d kissed her and she’d practically knocked him out, and she felt nothing? She could just continue a conversation as if nothing had happened between them? Fine, then. If she could ignore it, so could he.

But as he opened his mouth to say something that would probably have turned out to be irredeemably callous, he saw Grace raise her hand.

She dropped it down again by her side a second later, but he’d caught the nervous gesture. She’d been reaching to tug on her hair, but couldn’t because she’d pinned her hair up in a loose twist. Taking a second look, he noticed the faint flush on her cheekbones that hadn’t been there before and the barely visible flutter of an elevated pulse at the base of her throat. She’d been as affected by the brief kiss as he was, he realized.

Tyler knew the satisfaction he felt at these signs was a ridiculous display of his male ego, but what the hell. He could afford to indulge himself. He’d made Grace blush.